Manic
by aBlue Gillespian
Summary: The mind is something delicate and sometimes is impossible to find the line between ambitions and madness. What happens when a one great mind fall into insanity?


**DISCLAIMER: The only thing I own here is my insane imagination. And there is not much I can do with it, but write this. So sue me if you want.**

**A/N: I want to say a really special THANK YOU to my DW-story beta-reader Laura545, your encoragement and work are helping me to keep write.**This one is utterly insane, but I really like the way it came out. The problem is, this story throws out the window the whole LOTTL episode. Not that I didn't like the episode, on the contrary, the 3 episodes Utopia, SOD and LOTTL are some of my all-time favorite new Who episodes. Is just the soapy end that ruined it for me. I hate soapy anyway, this is my take on the ending. :)

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><p>They said that I've killed someone. "Someone"?I wish I knew who I'm paying for because through my life I've killed more than just one "someone". But now they insist on me paying for killing this one person. Apparently <em>this<em> person was someone important.

Apparently.

How ironic; the stupid law institution that they are did not care for the thousands I've killed - they just want me to pay for this one human. I wish I could remember who this person was. I probably would - if not for the drugs that they pumped my blood with to keep me docile.

I try to look down to my feet but I'm strapped firmly to the medical table so I won't be able to move too much. I can only turn my head around and struggle. I've tried to pull my hands and legs free, it doesn't work - the straps only tighten, so I gave upon this. I'm scared for the first time in my life. I'm actually scared. Me, the Time Lord, dying on an examination table in a human prison? How pathetic is that?

What? Did you think that I was scared of the thought of dying? I'm not scared of dying, but this? This is ludicrous. I pull again and scream and scream. Dear Rassilon, when did I reduce to screaming? But they have taken measures; I could scream my throat dry and still not disturb the peace of the others, so they leave me to it.

The door opens and a rat (because they are this for me-rats) in white coat enters the room and goes to prepare more drugs, to pump into my body. I pity them, they are wary of me, but still have to come and do their job. The pathetic rat is throwing me worried looks, probably not sure if the straps are strong enough to keep me safe. I want to ask this white coated rat how killing someone to pay for crime is different from just killing someone, but my throat is too dry from screaming to talk. The lab rat turns around and I see she is female (not a woman, female makes it easier, don't you think?). She comes and inserts a new tube for drugs into my arm even though there already is one running and keeping me calm and relatively safe. Poor silly humans; they think something like this is going to keep me put.

I laugh and laugh until the tears start to fall from my eyes. I laugh and the sound echoes through the room, bounce from walls and then dies up on the ceiling. My chest is moving frantically in synchrony with the sound but it does not feel as if I'm causing the noise.

The rat jumps away alarmed and breathing heavily. She has blond hair and her flushed, scared face stirs something inside me. I think I can see the outline of the person I've supposedly killed. I can see the blood on my hands; I hear her scream, her blond hair stained with all the pretty red colour of her life force. She always looked better in red anyway; I did keep telling her this. Her pretty, soft, ruby lips were so sexy when they screamed. I didn't want her to die.

No, no I didn't kill her, not Lucy, not sweet little Lucy! She never hurt anyone. But if she didn't hurt anyone, then why did her name hurt so much? I'd scrubbed and scrubbed my hands and arms later until it hurt, but the blood did not want to clean - it kept on flowing. I look down to my arms now, as far as the straps would allow my head to go. My arms are sore and red. I have cut her name into my skin. If I wear her name into my skin with bloody scars then she would never be really dead. But they insist that she is dead and don't want to listen to me.

They assigned me to a shrink. As if some doctor could help me - a human doctor at that. I'm not insane, I don't need help; just someone to listen. The self-important, self-righteous shrink thinks he knows everything, he says he can help me with all his diplomas, pompous words and fake friendly smiles. He said he'd listen, pretended to care but he never listened. Maybe if he did he could have heard them too. No one ever listens. When I told him to listen for the drums, he just nodded and scribbled some useless notes then sent me with the orderly to my room and a drug indulged sleep. But they are there, my constant friend, the one thing that never betrayed me through my whole life. Do you listen, or are you like the shrink? Listen…listen…they are loud; they will set me free, when this is finally over. Did you hear them? No? You're all the same. The only one that ever heard them was sweet, little Lucy. Why is she not here?

The door opens again and another rat in white coat and a priest that enter the room. I snort; doctors and priests? As if any of them could help me. There already was a doctor who tried to help me and could not. Trust me this doctor knew a lot more about me than these pathetic little creatures. Did I mention that I hate doctors? No matter if the coat is white, or long and brown one, they are all the same - patronising, but never listening.

The rats in white are busy running around the room preparing everything for the end; the end that now I wait for with tickle of excitement. The end that will finally send me free, flying out of the restriction of this mortal body and away from all this annoying little creatures in white and most importantly away from every doctor.

I watch the white coated humans going around, busy, running about like ants. They are so small to me, so insignificant. If I only reach out, I could snap their necks and that would be the end of their little existence. I feel energy flowing through me. I would move only one finger and their miserable life would stop, I could set everything alight or save everyone and end the wars. I could if it were not for the restraints that are eating at my flesh; they are eating me from outside in. Now I'm strapped they have the upper hand here. I smile, what a surprise it would be for this narrow minded apes if I comeback from the death, oh that would be fun. Only they had probably already thought of this and worked with UNIT, or Torchwood to make sure the drugs would get rid of me for good. That does not matter - execution is not something that could keep me in oblivion. The Time Lords have failed to do this. What makes these stupid apes think that they will succeed somewhere my people failed?

The rat injects something into my IV and not long after this my limbs start to feel morbid, the lights dim and the sounds get muffled. My mind is clouding and it gets more and more difficult to think and form coherent words. I try to speak but my mouth is dry and my tongue feels heavy and swollen so all that comes out is a whisper. Finally the end. I hope they would move a bit quicker. The stupid priest is reading something from his Bible next to my head. Probably trying to make me beg his God for forgiveness before I die. I snort; he thinks I would seek forgiveness from his ridiculous God. Me, the creature who is as close to a God as it could get?

Soon the only noise into my heavy and clouded head is the drums. I don't need any God - I have them and they will not desert me, not even in my last minutes. Are you sure you don't hear them? They are so loud. Soon nothing else will exist but the drums in my head.

I turn my head away from the priest. Let him talk and chant if this makes him feel better and satisfied with his job. I tune him out and look to my left. There is a one-way-see-through glass. So, my execution is a show? I can't see who is behind the glass, but I know they can see me. I wonder if the Doctor is there, or the freak, or maybe the dark girl and her family. Let them watch. I smile at them; I would have waved if it wasn't for the straps.

The rat comes with the last drug, prepared to inject it into my veins and carry the death sentence. Before she does so, the priest bends down to me and asks.

"Any last words Mr Saxon?"

"Lucy…"


End file.
